


Nights Under The Stars

by thatonekeyboard



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Summer Camp, Camp, F/M, Homophobic Language, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Mickey and Ian are both 17, Rating for Language, Rating for Smut in later chapters, Summer Camp, camp counselors
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-14
Updated: 2015-04-18
Packaged: 2018-03-12 23:17:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 13,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3358967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatonekeyboard/pseuds/thatonekeyboard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mickey finally did it. He got his dad thrown in jail for (hopefully) good. Unluckily for him, he and Mandy are still underage and their temporary social worker still thinks she can make a difference in the lives of the poor, unfortunate Chicago youth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Decisions To Make

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> welcome! this is my first "really long" multi-chap fic and i'm so excited! i hope you enjoy! <3

Mickey's decision was common sense, and nothing anyone could've said to him would've changed his mind.

When Terry got busted for drugs and violating parole (for the hundredth time), and they sent police to their house, Mickey doubted they were surprised to find him in an all out brawl with his youngest son.

Mandy was a crouched in a corner, a bruise in the shape of fingers starting to form on her neck. She was gasping for breath and Mickey knew his nose was bleeding. So he went for it.

"He was trying to choke her!" He shouted. Almost immediately, he felt pitiful, like a tattling little kid. Milkoviches were taught that they could take care of themselves, and definitely didn't need help from the law.

The men in blue charged through the door just as Terry landed a solid hit on Mickey's jaw, leaving the entire left side of his head ringing.

Seventeen years of similar abuse, and suddenly - poof.

They were rid of their shithead of a father for years (because it was hard to bribe your way out of charges for child endangerment when the police walking right as you were beating your child).

Mickey told the social worker interviewing him most of the truth, leaving out bits and pieces, like the times he'd bought his own drugs to sell, so he could keep the money all for himself.

Calls were made to see who of their brothers would continue taking care of the house, and that's when Mickey began to understand why his brothers never tried to get their dad incarcerated before.

Finally, Iggy stepped up (Mickey didn't want to think about where Tony, Colin, or Jamie were) and bullshitted the CPS into thinking he worked at one of their laundering fronts and lived in his girlfriend's apartment.

He wasn't considered an "eligible guardian" (probably because he showed up at the police building drunk off his ass and in sweatpants) but he was allowed to maintain the house. However, Mandy and Mickey would have to find another place to live, which meant a state home.

It wasn't anything new, but the social worker on their case must’ve been off her rocker, because one of the first things she said was, “I can tell you two have been through a lot, but I believe we can make this situation work out for the best.”

Mandy’s ankle knocked into Mickey’s under the table. In their silent, Milkovich-sibling language, it was as good as a laugh. They both knew they were going to get sucked back into their dad’s old debts sooner or later.

While they were sitting in the impersonal police office, both covered in bruises and grime, getting talked to like they were kids (it was Mickey’s personal opinion that the “juvenile” cut-off should’ve been fourteen or fifteen, because he was nearly eighteen, and it was a load of bullshit), the idea that they could get away from their neighborhood wa something they didn’t even dare dream about.

The social worker (who had an embarrassingly white name: Ms. Durant) had been looking over their files, wrinkles deepening with each passing charge. Mickey was pleased to see how much thicker his folder was than Mandy’s (not only because it confirmed his reputation, but showed how - comparatively - little trouble she’d gotten into). After a few minutes, she stood up and pulled Mickey out of the office into the hall with her.

Up close, the woman didn’t look as young as she had seemed behind the desk. Her hair was graying and there were bags under her eyes, covered with creased makeup. “There’s a decision you have to make, Michael.”

Mickey drew back at her sudden seriousness and crossed his arms over his chest. “What’s that?” He asked sharply.

“Well, you were seventeen when the incident took place, but by the nearest court date available, you’ll be an adult. You’ve been offered the choice to appear as a minor or as an adult in front of the jury.”

Mickey’s first instinct was to demand that he be treated like an adult, but she wasn’t done talking.

“I didn’t want to say this in front of your sister, but they found several… incriminating substances in your room, so I would advise to go along as a minor.”

Mickey didn’t say anything, but it made sense. It was a strategy he’d watched his brothers use numerous times.

“Yeah, fine,” He said finally, feeling like a fucking preschooler for the second time that week. He looked down at his shoes, wishing they could just go back into her office already. Durant was smiling like a loon and it was making him uncomfortable.

“Great!” She trilled, before opening the door and ushering Mickey through.

As soon as they were both seated (Mandy was looking at Mickey like she’d just missed some all-important secret. Mickey nudged her foot under the desk again, silently letting her know it was fine), Durant clasped her hands together on her desk.

"So, you’re both going to testify against your father in September?” She confirmed.

The siblings nodded.

“And you-” She gestured to Mickey, “-have already agreed to maintain the house and watch over Amanda after you turn eighteen on... August 20th.”

Mickey nodded, while Mandy rolled her eyes. She had just turned sixteen years old, and she already had the same feelings for treating all “juveniles” like kids that Mickey did.

“Great!” She repeated. “Now, we just have to figure out what to do ‘til then…”

She flipped the papers in the file around, and Mickey tried not to get bored. He didn’t try very hard.

“There’s two options I see here, since none of your family members are… available,” She said carefully. “There’s the state homes that you two can stay at, here in Chicago, or…” She pulled two pamphlets out from a file cabinet next to her desk.

“This is Camp Wapsinonoc, or Camp Nonoc for short. They’ve still got spots open for counselors, and I think I could squeeze both of you in if I tried hard enough,” She said smugly. Both Mandy and Mickey rolled their eyes, but Durant persevered.

“It’s a great way to really get away from the city, you’d get paid, and you’d get to work alongside some wonderful youth role models,” Durant read off the back of the pamphlet.

At the mention of getting paid, Mandy perked up. Mickey couldn’t believe she was actually considering a summer camp as a viable option of places to go.

“Where is it?” She asked.

“In Iowa, about four and a half hours away. It really is ideal to get away from, ah, this neighborhood.”

Mandy wasn’t done entertaining herself with the stupid idea. “What sort of stuff would we have to do?”

Durant smiled and pushed the brochures towards them, “Find out for yourself.”

Mickey ignored his, so Mandy picked up both.

“One last thing: since it’s only May now, you two will have to be put in a temporary home for now. I’ll arrange a meeting a couple days before the training week at Nonoc will start to get your guys’ decision. How does Friday the 29th sound?”

That was two weeks, Mickey figured, to make no decision at all. Of course he’d stay in Chicago.

Both Mandy and Mickey stood up, Mickey was ready to leave, but Mandy was still looking at the pamphlets in her hands. “Quick question. How will we get there if it’s four hours away?”

“I’ll make sure you guys get bus tickets to Iowa, and then we can get a camp director to pick you up.” Durant smiled fondly, “I really do hope you two will consider it.”

Mickey smiled back slightly - as Mickey scoffed - and they finally exited the office.

It was eleven in the morning and they were supposed to be in school, so they walked home together.

“You’re not actually thinking ‘bout this camp bullshit, are you, Mands?” He asked gruffly.

She was still looking over the pamphlets, looking like a kid who’d been offered a chance to go to Disneyland for free. That camp was dangerous; it would just get her hopes up for something that would never happen.

The only way Mickey had survived so long was the fact that he had no expectations for anything. Having high hopes in the south side was like getting your face shoved into the side of a dumpster and expecting it to smell like daisies.

“Fuck off, asshole,” Mandy replied vaguely. She only looked up from the pamphlet to cross the street.

“They’ve got canoeing and riflery,” She suggested.

“The fuck calls it riflery?” Mickey asked as they turned into an alley. Even the hobos didn’t bother asking them for change. “That’s some gay ass shit.”

It was what his father would’ve said, so he followed the footsteps and ignored the prickles of discomfort in his chest that he got whenever he talked about shit like that. He hardly felt them anymore.

Mandy shoved him, with no malice behind it. “Fuck _off_ ,” She repeated. There was a few seconds of silence before she kicked an empty can so hard it landed in the middle of the sidewalk, at the other end of the alley. “I just… It’s nice to pretend that there’s a place we could go to get away from what dad’s… fucking committed us to,” Mandy explained.

It was a well-known fact that the Milkoviches were in neck-deep shit when it came to their future. Mickey had already long-since accepted the fact as faith, but Mandy was holding off, apparently.

It was also a well-known fact that the Milkoviches weren’t the best with words, so Mickey just silently took one of the pamphlets and hoped Mandy got his message. Didn’t mean he was going to go to a fucking summer camp.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> did you like it? (i had to take a few "fanfiction liberties" with this, but it should get a little more realistic as chapters go on). updates on saturdays!
> 
> kudos to imyoursociallyawkwardfriend.tumblr.com for beta'ing the SHIT out of this.  
> no really, thank you.
> 
> ~ find me at iangallagherisadeadmxn.tumblr.com :) i'd love to hear what you think of it! ~


	2. Stubborn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Over the course of two weeks, Mickey changes his mind. And then tries to change it back again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> saturday again! (and no shameless tomorrow night, sigh..) i hope you guys enjoy! <3

It took two weeks, several hours of Mandy reading over her pamphlet wistfully, a fight with Iggy, and a familiar complete disregard to common sense, but Mickey changed his mind.

The more he saw Mandy with the fucking brochure, the more worried he got about her actually choosing to go to the camp, with or without him. She was a Milkovich after all, and just as stubborn as Mickey.

He just had one thing she didn’t: an immense need to protect her, wherever she was. No matter how much she bitched, she was still his little sister, and she was possibly the only person he felt remotely responsible for.

So that was why he was yelling at Ms. Durant, in her tiny fucking office, at four in the afternoon.

"You gotta be kidding me!" He ran his hands through his hair.

"I'm sorry, Michael," The social worker replied. "But Amanda chose to stay in Chicago."

He was getting really sick of her calling them by their legal names. "Then let me change my mind too, Jesus!" He shouted.

The woman brought her hand down onto the desk in front of her. "Listen, Michael, I really think this camp is gonna be a life-changer for you!"

"My life don't need changing," Mickey argued back.

He came out of the room ten minutes later, near boiling over. Mandy looked at him in amusement. "Didn't think you were the summer camp type, Mick," She teased.

"Shut the _fuck_ up," Mickey bellowed. It had to have been commonplace, because not many people even spared him a second glance. He wasn’t surprised. "' _Michael_ this', ' _Amanda_ that', fuckin' bitch."

Mandy didn't reply. She knew when to push Mickey and when to lay off him.

They exited the office building. Mickey rolled his head back, trying - not all that hard - to calm down. He could already feel a bead of sweat rolling past his ear, and he doubted it was because of the heat.

Mandy walked with her arms crossed. Mickey knew he’d take his anger out on the first thing that set him off, but he also knew it’d sooner be a brick wall than Mandy. Still, he didn’t want her to talk about it.

In the alleyway near their house, another unpleasant surprise popped up, but not nearly as dire as the other bullshit they'd dealt with that day. Frank Gallagher.

"Ay, Milkoviches!" He slurred. He was propped up against the wall at the lip of the shortcut, surrounded by cans and bottles of beer of an impressive variety. "Milkoviches... Milkovich bitches..." He murmured to himself.

Mickey pulled the sleeve of Mandy's hoodie. "Let's get out of here, Mands," He rolled his eyes. He did _not_ have the patience required to deal with Frank.

"Milkobitches!" Frank suddenly shouted, gleeful and smug with his "new" nickname for them.

Mickey wondered absently how many substances were currently working their way through the old man’s system - he had no idea; he wouldn't have dealt to Frank if he'd been on the other side of a ten foot pole.

Mickey and Mandy were halfway through the alley when Frank remembered they were there. "Anyway!" He shouted at them, "I was wondering if one of you bright smiling faces had any _extra_ in your pockets?"

Mickey couldn't tell if Frank was asking for handouts in money or drugs, but Mickey would've laughed at the idea if he hadn't been having such a shitty day already.

Long story short, he didn’t end up punching a wall, that was for fucking sure.

Instead, he found himself shaking out his arms as he pulled a beer from the fridge, a few minutes later than he had planned.

"Do you think you should try to clean the Frank off your shoes or not bother?" Mandy asked casually. Mickey was still massaging the tension out his hands, but he shook his head.

"Nah. I'll be walking through worse shit soon enough."

Mandy hopped onto the counter and grabbed a partially-eaten chocolate bar off of a dirty plate. They had the house to themselves, so they could talk as loud as they wanted.

"Speaking of," Mandy started, "What are you planning to do there?"

Mickey glared at her, but answered anyway, after cracking the cap off the bottle. "Don't know. Corrupt the next generation of Iowans, get myself kicked out, something like that."

Mandy nodded slowly. "Well, whatever. Have a good fucking time, dickhead," she spat as she hopped of the counter.

"Fuck," Mickey muttered to himself, running his hand down his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is a bit shorter than last week's, but i'm a little antsy to get on to the camp scenes :) i hope you liked it!
> 
> again, thank you to imyoursociallyawkwardfriend.tumblr.com for beta'ing (a lot)
> 
> ~ you can find me at iangallagherisadeadmxn.tumblr.com and i'd love to hear anything you guys have to say about this story! ~


	3. Greyhound Blues

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mickey gets shipped out of Chicago, but he's figured out a way to make camp... not quite as terrible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> who's excited about a new episode of shameless tomorrow night?? i needed time to recover, but i. am. ready!
> 
> anyway, i hope you enjoy!

Mickey's grand plan ended up being comprised of Iggy's old duffel bag and a truly astounding amount of weed. It was stupidly expensive, but he figured if he could sell a gram or two a week (while keeping enough to smoke himself) he'd end up making money.

After a day of sulking, it was time for him to pack up and leave. He stored the majority of his things (a sweatshirt, his two pairs of jeans, and several shirts, along with his deodorant) in a garbage bag, with the duffel in the bottom. He didn't know what else he would need, but... Iowa had to have Walmarts, right? He'd be fine.

Mandy hugged him before he got to the L station. "Have fun at summer camp, asshole," She whispered.

Mickey sighed. It hadn't hit him yet (even though he knew it would) that he'd be away from home for ten and a half weeks.

Sure, he'd gone to juvie a couple times, but he'd always been in Chicago and, more importantly, he'd been able to check in with Mandy.

He didn't even know if Camp Whateverthefuck would have reception. Not that he was a cell phone junkie, he just wanted to be sure he’d be able to contact Mandy.

Not that he’d ever intentionally let her know that (he was pretty sure she already knew, anyway) so he didn’t waste time thinking about it. He just hiked his duffel bag higher onto his shoulder and jumped the turnstile.

 

It showed how deep in the south side they were that Mickey had to ride the L for thirty minutes before he could transfer over to a Greyhound.

The bus was just as crowded as he’d figured it would be. It was a Sunday, right at the beginning of summer, so he wasn’t surprised when the station was filled to the brim with Iowans who didn’t have a car and wanted to go home after a weekend in Chicago.

He could practically smell the fact that they were tourists, it was just about a sixth sense for anyone living in the south side. Luckily, he was able to get his own seat in the near-back, draw the shades, and settle down to try and take a nap.

Even luckier than that, his knuckle tattoos kept everyone else to a safe distance.

It wasn’t that Mickey had never left the city before, but he’d never left it without at least one of his brothers to distract him (or piss him off. Usually both.) He hadn’t thought it would be a problem, but, around hour three, he found himself ridiculously bored.

Finally, though, the bus pulled to a stop in Cedar Rapids. With such a bland name, he'd expected a town with fewer people than a single skyscraper, but it was a small city.

He was supposed to meet a guy named Jackson, even though he had no idea what he would look like. He sat on a bench in the view of the street and, not for the first time, considered walking out.

The draw of making money was enough to keep him on the bench. Especially since he'd already paid for the whole bag's worth.

He considered walking away again when he saw "Jackson". A dark-haired, six-foot-tall man... Dressed in shorts and a dark blue button down. He looked like some of the kids that grew up selling drugs to rich white people, only aged twenty years.

He was wearing a lanyard with a name tag dangling from the end. The words on the notecard weren’t immediately readable, but Mickey was pretty sure it said, " _HI! I'm Jackson D!_ "

Mickey stood up with his duffel and met Jackson in the middle of the sidewalk. The air was a little warmer than it had been in Chicago, and Mickey's shirt was already starting to stick to his back.

"Hey! Michael, right?" Jack greeted cheerily.

"Mickey," He corrected gruffly.

"Everyone calls me Jack," He replied, nodding. Mickey tried not to think about him much _Jack D_ sounded like a shitty stripper name.

Jack turned towards the parking lot. "Well, let's get a move on. All the staff is gonna be arriving today, so you'll blend right in." He sounded how Mickey imagined suburban dads sounded like.

So Mickey nodded and followed the guy to his car. It was  gray four-door, thank god. Mickey had been wondering if the guy drove a tie-dyed van, Scooby Doo style.

"Drive takes about forty, fifty minutes, so if we can miss the traffic, we should be able to get there in time to help with getting dinner ready," Jack said as Mickey loaded his duffel bag into the backseat and stuffed himself into the passenger seat.

Mickey had always considered one of his greatest accomplishments to be the time he spent eight straight hours on the road with Iggy and Colin without busting either of their heads on the dash, but a little under an hour with this guy was seriously making him reconsider.

The ride started off with country music.

Some bullshit Kenny Chesney song played as soon as Jack twisted the key in the ignition. He laughed at Mickey's affronted expression, but turned the radio down. As they left the city limits (Jesus, hadn't Iowa ever heard of a suburb? They went from city streets to the highway in the span of of a minute) Jack apparently decided that they'd had enough "comfortable silence".

"So, have you ever been to camp, Mickey?"

Mickey drew his shoulders up and shook his head. He wondered how much the staff knew about him. Had Durant mailed them his criminal history? Judging by Jack's ease with him, he hadn't seen it. For all they knew, Mickey realized, he was just some poor unfortunate yuppie, fresh out of an abusive family.

With the realization came a moment of hopefulness. Maybe he could finally stop acting like his dad for long enough to- no, that was ridiculous. The idea that Mickey could somehow wipe away all his defenses he'd built to keep himself from ending up like his mom was bullshit. He just had to keep his head down and get through it with as few disappointments as possible. Just like every other summer of his life.

Meanwhile, Jack was delighting in telling Mickey every little detail about Camp Fullofbullshit. It was difficult to zone out when the only other things to focus on were Taylor Swift or endless rows of corn, so Mickey accidentally picked up bits and pieces.

There was something called a rowdy fire, but there was also one called a "wish-stick" fire. There were ten cabins, but two more groups of kids at the camp. Apparently he didn't need to worry about those, just his cabin. His co-counselor was a guy named Courtney Edina.

None of the information _stuck_ , per se. Anything Mickey needed to know, he’d figure out along the way.

After an eternity of that, Jack tired himself out. They’d been driving on the interstate for half an hour, and Jack drove onto the next ramp. A green sign informed them that Dixon was three miles to the left and Liberty was forty-one to the right. They turned left.

Within five hundred feet of the ramp, there was a Walmart. Mickey couldn’t say he was surprised, but the amount of empty parking spaces made Mickey think of the zombie movies he’d watched with his brother back when they’d all lived under the same roof. They’d never cared that he was “too young” for the movies, didn’t even bother warning him when someone was about to get attacked. Not that it had ever bothered him.

In another few minutes - it was around 5:30 by then - they reached Dixon.

Dixon was a small town, if Mickey could call it that. It was an imbalance of sprawling farmland, surrounding a tiny downtown. Tiny. There was a law firm, some grocery store named “Hy-Vee”, and a restaurant or two. The majority of the “town” was housing. Somewhere in the back of Mickey’s head, he wondered if the commercial-to-residential-lots ratio was the same as Chicago.

Jack turned left onto a gravel road and Mickey latched onto the bottom of his seat silently. He could make it through a gravel road, he assured himself, he’d gone over plenty of potholes while Iggy was driv- _Jesus_ , was the car really supposed to rattle like that?

Jack pulled his visor down. The sun was nowhere near setting, but it was shining in their faces full force. “We’ve got about fifteen minutes to go,” He informed Mickey. After a second, he snapped his fingers and it was all Mickey could do not to yell at him to keep both his hands on the _fucking wheel, Jesus Christ._

After an interminable length of time (the road was still bumpy, the scenery was still corny; although there _was_ the occasional wooded area and Mickey was pretty sure he’d seen a river in the distance) they passed a small wooden sign with an arrow pointing to the left and the words “ _CAMP NONOC_ ” carved out on it.

“Ah, I can’t believe I didn’t mention this sooner," Jack piped up. Again. "All the counselors have what we call camp names. Like, I’m Sonic, and my co-counselor, Becca, is Captain. It’s just in front of campers, so we won’t really be thinking about it much until next week, but I just thought I’d give you a heads up.”

Mickey would’ve accepted anything blindly right then, so he didn’t say anything, just nodded.

He wouldn’t have had much time to argue him about it anyway, because they turned one that last corner and there was Camp Fuckitall, in all its glory.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry if it seemed a bit like an information dump! i promise everything that i off-handedly mentioned in this chapter will be explained in more detail later :)
> 
> as usual, a big thank you to imyoursociallyawkwardfriend.tumblr.com for beta'ing!
> 
> ~ come find me at iangallagherisadeadmxn.tumblr.com! (note to anyone who maybe actually tried this, but i fixed the ask box. sorry if there was any confusion!) ~


	4. Welcome to Camp Nonoc

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mickey was starting to think the cornfields would ever end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so tomorrow is going to be rough.. but, in the meantime, i hope you guys like this chapter!

The first thing Mickey saw once they pulled into camp was a huge rock wall/rope climbing structure that had to have been fifty feet tall, at least. On the other side of the car was a small pasture that had a dozen or so horses in it.

Jack was driving slower, pointing things out. "That's the Tower I was telling you about, and the shooting range -there’s the target- is right to the right of it. Over past the horses is Ranger camp, but it's pretty hard to see from here. Up right ahead, do you see that building? That's the camp store and on the other side is the arts and crafts station." (There were five buildings, all made entirely of wood, but Mickey didn’t ask for clarification.)

Mickey had a vague feeling that he should try to get to know the camp better, so he tried to take note of everything Jack rattled off.

They parked in a dusty lot with twenty or thirty cars in it already, and Mickey grabbed his duffel bag and followed Jack into the center of camp.

They passed by a couple courts (that had both tennis nets and basketball hoops), and stopped in the center of all the buildings. There were a few young adults walking around, but they all looked like they had somewhere to be. One woman stood in the center of everything, in front of a gazebo, with a clip board.

Past the gazebo, there was a weird structure with the word “Gaga” painted on it. It looked like a game, Mickey figured. There were a few picnic tables scattered around, but no one was sitting at them.

There was a huge bell that was, in a strange way, _near_ everything, but not next to anything. Past the bell was a steep downhill. Benches had been built on it, like stadium seating.

Mickey couldn’t see the bottom of the hill, but he imagined there had to have been a deck, because he could see a huge, slow-moving river beyond it. It was wide, Mickey allowed, but nothing compared to Lake Michigan. It must have been the river Mickey had seen when they were driving in.

Jack stopped near the center, while Mickey oggled the scenery. He felt like he was walking into the set of a movie. It was so unlike Chicago that he had to take a minute. The river acted like a barrier and dense forests framed the rest of the camp. Mickey couldn’t even see the seemingly endless cornfields he’d travelled through.

It was weird. Private, even.

Jack was still talking. "Girls' End is on the left and Boys' End is to the right. Now, I hate to just get you here and run, but Becca probably needs help for some last-minute preparation."

Even so, he introduced Jill before he left.

She was the woman with the clipboard. She couldn’t have been older than forty, but she had leathery skin and wrinkles around her eyes. A pair of glasses were propped behind her ears, connected to a chain around her neck. She wore a lanyard similar to Jack’s.

"Oh, Michael! I'm Jill Cutch, camp director here at Nonoc, but feel free to just call me Jill," She greeted him sunnily.

Mickey nodded. "Mickey," He corrected. He had a feeling he would be doing that a lot - and it was already annoying. And _so help him_  if anyone pulled the Mickey Mouse bullshit on him.

At Mickey's brief - if not gruff - introduction, Jill suddenly changed tracks. "Well, _Mickey_ , Ms. Durant just told me _all_ about you. And I'll bet that a summer here at Nonoc will do you some good!"

Mickey drew back. She reminded him of an old teacher: she was fine, nice even, before she realized who was a good egg, and who was rotten. Mickey had no question about who she thought he was. Even though she was right, he allowed.

"Right..." He muttered. "Jack said I was supposed to meet with a Courtney?" He tried. "For Cabin 5?"

She smiled, making her lips stretch over her teeth and Mickey realized something: she was the type of person that would punish him by making him stay at camp, instead of kicking him out.

He imagined she and Durant would have been great friends.

Despite the scenery, he decided that if everyone acted like Jack and Jill, he was going to end up combusting before the summer was over. He hated the fact that he was already resigned to ten weeks of peppy suburban parents.

His sole consolation was that he wasn’t there because Durant forced him to. He was there… as a business venture. He had made an investment, after all and he intended to make money by the time summer was over. If there was anything being a Milkovich had taught him, it was that, no matter how shitty the situation, he could hold tight if money was on the line.

Jill marched him to Cabin 5, past a sandy volleyball court, another log-cabin-looking building, and a fire pit, surrounded by rows of wooden logs that were probably meant to be sat on.

Past the fire pit, there was a circle of cabins, arranged at the bottom of a hill. There were four cabins, all facing inward, and surrounding a jungle gym in the center. The cabin at the bottom of the hill, the one that Jill was heading towards, was only a few feet away from the edge of a dense forest. Mickey thought he could see a pathway: leading to what, he didn’t know.

There was a large “5” carved over the door. It was the smallest cabin in the circle, but the cabins surrounding it had two doors, with two numbers. The cabin on the opposite end of the circle, the closest to the camp, didn’t have a number, but the word “Cedar” on it. Not that he cared, but he told himself he would ask someone why they got a word instead of a number.

They walked past the jungle gym and Mickey adjusted his duffel bag subconsciously. He could just imagine smoking on top of the monkey bars.

Jill knocked twice before entering the cabin. There was a bunk bed on each wall, with a shitty-looking blue mats instead of mattresses. There was a rug on the floor which looked hand-woven and like it had seen its fair share of shoes.

There was a strange lack of smell. Mickey was used to walking into rooms and being slapped in the face with the stench of weed or spilled beer or stale sweat.

Judging by the wear on the bunk beds, and the probable timestamp on the rug, the room looked as old as the town on the way in had been. That kind of age had an odor, but instead there was just a faint Pine-Sol taste in the back of Mickey’s nose.

A man came out of a room to the right of the entrance. He was tall, skinny, and dark-skinned. Mickey hadn’t noticed how many black people he hadn’t seen since arriving at Iowa, but he was reasonably sure that “Courtney” - he assumed he was his co-counselor - was the first one.

“Oh! This is Courtney, you’ll both be counselling Cabin 5 for the next few weeks,” She introduced.

Courtney gave a half wave. He had a sort-of-there beard and a buzz cut with a white plug in one ear.

“Hey, man,” He greeted. “Call me Court. You’re Michael, right?”

“Mickey,” He replied shortly.

“Well!” Jill burst, “Lots to do! Dinner’s at seven, we’ll go over the guidelines for training week there... ”

Mickey took the opportunity to walk past Court and deposit his bag on the empty cot in the other room. It was considerably smaller, with two dressers and corresponding beds, one of which looked like it had been transplanted from a bedroom (surrounded by posters on the walls and an actual set of sheets) and one that looked like it had been transplanted from the Gunderson Boys’ Home.

There was one last room, which had a door from both rooms leading into it. Mickey peaked into one of them and discovered a bathroom. He was relieved; he’d been expecting to shit in the forest and bathe in a river. Knowing there was running water made the whole camp seem less remote - which helped him realize that he was officially grasping at straws.

He returned to the main room and listened to the end of the conversation.

“... Oh, and Courtney, can you show him around camp?” Jill was asking. The man nodded. “And _you_ , Mister-” She turned to him, and Mickey felt like he’d been caught doing something terrible, like -he didn’t know- steal from the cookie jar or piss in her flowers. “-Cover up those tattoos before any of the campers get here!”

Mickey had forgotten about them. Court’s eyes darted down to his hands as Jill strode out of the room.

“Nice,” He commented. Mickey shrugged. “Don’t worry too much about Jill,” He continued, “She likes to think that she’s improving America’s troubled youth with religion and firm guidelines.”

Mickey snorted, and Courtney grinned. “Welcome to Camp Nonoc.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next chapter, mickey will be meeting some of his fellow counselors... do you think they'll be like jack and jill, or court?
> 
> big thanks to imyoursociallyawkwardfriend.tumblr.com (of course!)
> 
> ~ fangirl with me at iangallagherisadeadmxn.tumblr.com! i'd love to hear what you think about the fic so far! ~


	5. Freedom and Leadership Roles*

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> * Terms and Conditions may apply.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy pi day, and also: happy one-month birthday for this fic! as always, i hope you guys like the chapter!

Courtney offered to show Mickey around camp, “counselor style”, which Mickey figured was code for a no-bullshit tour.

The first thing he explained was the extra-special “Cedar” Cabin.

“That’s the cabin for the sits,” He explained.

“The whats?”

“The- oh man,” He laughed. “You’re the freshest meat I’ve ever talked to.”

Mickey was just about ready to start swinging, but Court was still talking, “Sits - Like, C-I-Ts. Stands for ‘Counselors in training’. They’re usually sophomores or juniors who’ll be counselors next year.”

They walked by Cedar Cabin, into a clearing between Boys’ End and the rest of the camp.

“Everything from the Fire Pit,” Court gestured to their right, where the circle of logs was, “To the Infirm,” He pointed to the furthest log-cabin-that-wasn’t-a- _Cabin_ -cabin, “Is Main Camp. You have to wear close-toed shoes at all times up here, whenever you aren’t showering or heading to the pool.”

There was a pool? Of course there was a pool. Mickey couldn’t imagine how the camp could get any whiter.

“Where is it? The pool, I mean,” He asked.

Court spun around mid-stride and pointed past the fire pit, to the left of Boys’ End. Mickey hadn’t looked too intensely on the way in, but he could see a point where the grass just _ended_ , and a bridge started, at the top of the hill. There was a crevice, about fifteen feet long, with sides steep enough that Mickey hadn’t even noticed them at first glance.

But on the other side, he could see the artificial blue of a pool.

“Anyway,” Court spun back around, again leaving Mickey in the dust, “Volleyball court’s here. This building over here is Admin. Aside from mail, we don’t really have to be here, so it isn’t that important. It’s got AC though, so that’s nice.”

He pointed out the four other buildings. The Infirm, the Camp Store/Arts and Crafts station, the Lodge (which, Mickey gathered, was basically the cafeteria), and, finally, the Indoor Chapel.

“What,” Mickey replied tonelessly. Mandy hadn’t said a damn thing about the camp being religious.

“I mean, we all call it the IC, but the only reason anyone ever goes in is to use the bathrooms or watch movies.”

“Didn’t know this was a religious camp,” Mickey grunted.

“Well, I guess technically. But nobody actually practices anything,” He shrugged. “Especially not the older cabins. Kids don’t come here to read the bible or anything, they come here to get out of the house and have fun for a week.”

With that, Courtney continued to the other parts of camp. They ended up right in the middle of Main Camp. Again, the view of the lush surrounding forests astounded Mickey.

Courtney walked past the bell, to the slope with the seats built onto it. Mickey followed and, as he got closer to the downhill, saw the deck. It was huge, probably only a few square feet smaller than his house.

“This is the Outdoor Chapel, or the OC. Again, it isn’t really religious - we come here after breakfast every morning for announcements and stuff,” Courtney explained.

“Hey, Court!”

Both Mickey and Courtney turned around. A guy, around Mickey’s age, was running up to them.

“Caleb!” Courtney greeted. “Ready for your first year of counseling?”

Caleb grinned. He had floppy brown hair and big, round eyes. “I'm so excited, especially since I got Cabin 1, I was their CIT last year. Who’s this?”

“Mickey,” He introduced himself.

“Well, welcome to Camp, Mickey," He said. He talked quickly but not unkindly, he reminded Mickey of some of the kids his dad would hire to sell drugs on the corners. They always had to look innocent - or at least more innocent than any of Mickey’s siblings.

“Anyway, I’ve been running around looking for Ian. Have either of you seen him?”

Court shook his head. “Not me. He isn’t at Ranger?”

“Nah. Checked there - and down at Canoes - but I haven’t even seen him yet.” Already, he was looking around them, like there was some place he must have missed.

Compared to him, Court was like a statue. He stood solidly and confidently, unlike Caleb’s shuffling feet and heavy breathing.

“Why do you need to see him?”

“Olivia wanted me to. He was supposed to help with dinner, but he’s going on twenty minutes late.”

Court didn’t say anything. “I’ll admit I spent most of my afternoon cleaning up Five, but I haven’t actually seen him yet. Maybe check with Admin to see if he’s even here?”

Caleb nodded, clearly happy that he had a clearer mission. “Sounds good, Court,” He said, before walking off, slower than earlier.

Mickey didn’t say anything, just watched Caleb walk off.

Court noticed Mickey’s less-than-positive stare. “He’s just new,” He assured Mickey. “He’ll be toned down after a couple weeks."

“So I can’t think of anything else to show you. The pool’s pretty obvious, you can’t miss the river… Girls’ End is over there,” He pointed in the opposite direction from Boys’ End, which didn’t surprise Mickey.

They had roughly the same formation as the boys’ cabins, but they were closer to Main Camp. The back of their CIT cabin (Mickey guessed it was their CIT cabin, at least) was only a few feet away from the Arts and Crafts/Camp Store building. “Their CITs are the Pines.”

He looked at Mickey then. “Okay, _now_ I’m out of things to show you. I mean, there’s Stations every morning, scattered around camp, but we’ll go over those this week. D’you have any questions?”

Mickey started to shake his head, but stopped. “Do I get any shit to sleep on or do are sleeping bags only for-” _People that want to be here._ He almost finished, but Court beat him to it.

“Usually, counselors bring their own but, I’m sure Nora May can find an extra set for you.” Court grinned and started walking to the Infirm.

“Nora May” was the most Iowan-sounding name Mickey had ever heard. He imagined she looked like a grandmother - and not the meth-cooking, tattooed kind from Chicago.

She didn’t disappoint. She had to have been at least 75, and she was wearing high-waisted jeans over a purple shirt that had the words, “Life is Good” on it. She gave Mickey a nondescript black sleeping bag and even a comforter, and he almost felt guilty for not thanking her. (Almost.)

Mickey and Courtney returned to Boys’ End (the little trail he’d noticed next to Five was still there, still reaching out to him. He bet it lead to the edge of the river, or possibly a tributary) and Mickey had enough time to throw his meager clothing supply into his dresser and unroll the sleeping bag onto his cot before he heard the bell.

Courtney had been lying on his bed the entire time, contentedly chatting with Mickey and dicking around on his phone. “Perfect timing,” He said, sitting up fully and getting off the bed. He stashed his phone under his pillow. “Time for dinner.”

Dinner was pizza, which Mickey definitely wasn’t opposed to. There were thirteen tables in the dining area, which was exactly what Mickey had imagined it to look like. Everything was made out of wood. The only thing in the building that looked remotely modern was the kitchen, which Mickey was only able to get bits of a view of, through the cafeteria-style counter.

Once dinner was over and the talking had died down a bit, Mickey was struck by how empty the room was. He figured there were twenty-four people in the room, not counting the small staff in the kitchen, which meant only two to most of the tables. The tables alternated with women or men sitting at them, and Court pointed out that they were in order by youngest.

“Cabin 1, then Six, Two, then Seven. Got it?” Mickey had shrugged. He was sure he would get it when he saw the kids sitting at the tables.

They were in three rows. The outer two rows had four tables on each side, and the center row had three. The table at the back of the center row, furthest away from the kitchen, had three people.

Jack was sitting across from two women - one who had short black hair pulled back into a ponytail, and one who had much longer, bright orange hair messily braided and flipped over her shoulder. He figured the black-haired woman was Becca, because she seemed a little more mature, but he had no idea who the ginger was.

Halfway through dinner, another ginger had entered the Lodge from the kitchen door. He’d walked past Mickey and Court on his way to Jack’s table, said something that made the other three laugh, and sat across from the ginger girl. He had pale skin and light-colored eyes. Mickey couldn’t tell from a couple tables over, but he bet the kid had some freckles.

Jill appeared out of nowhere after everyone was done and called their attention. She ceremoniously got on top of the table the gingers were sitting at, and called everyone to attention.

“Welcome to Camp Wapsinonoc!” She called. Everyone cheered, but Mickey sat stoic. “For some people, this is their first year ever being a counselor; for others,” She gestured toward herself, “We can’t even remember how many years we’ve been here!” She laughed along with the crowd.

“Nonoc’s a very special place, and it holds a very special place in my heart, in all of our hearts. What’s the most important rule at Camp Nonoc?”

“Don’t die!” Everyone yelled. Mickey looked around himself in surprise. They sounded like the evil army in superhero movies, the way they were so in sync.

Jill laughed, “Okay, then what’s the second most important rule, for the counselors?”

“Campers first!” A young woman shouted. She was on the other side of the room, so he figured she was a counselor for Six or Seven.

“Thank you, Marleen,” Jill said. “Now, in this coming week, you’ll be learning the skills you’ll need for the rest of the summer. Tomorrow, we’ll start with…”

As she talked, Mickey couldn’t keep his eyes on her. They kept darting down to the red-headed guy at her feet. He still had no idea who he was, but the way he smiled lit up his face.

Midway through Jill’s lecture, the guy stopped paying so much attention too. His eyes started roving around the room, and even, though Mickey knew he’d see him staring, he couldn’t stop. It felt like Mickey’s eyes got locked onto his, like he couldn’t have looked away if he tried.

But he did; he forced himself to look back up at Jill, even though he could still feel the redhead looking at him.

After a minute, he couldn’t help himself. He glanced down at the guy, who was no longer looking at him, and tried not to stare for so long.

They played that game of cat and mouse for the rest of the speech. They didn’t catch each other often, but it happened enough that Mickey felt like he needed a hard drink. Fast.

Jill finally concluded with, “I’m sure the next week will be fun, and the rest of the summer will be even better. Now, go and get some shut eye, we’re meeting here for breakfast at eight!”

Everyone got up and headed back to their cabins. Everyone was still re-meeting each other, so the conversation picked up quickly.

“Who are the twins over there?” Mickey asked casually.

“What?” Court asked. He stood up awkwardly; with his long legs popping up like jack-in-the-boxes over the top of the wodden benches. “Oh, Charlotte and Ian? They’re the Ranger counselors. Why?” Court asked.

Ian, then. Mickey remembered the puppy - Caleb, right? - who’d been running around, looking for him earlier.

“No reason.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> woo! they finally fucking met... sort of. did you like it? (more importantly, what do you think of the other counselors? mickey might actually learn some of their names soon)
> 
> this chapter wasn't edited by anyone other than myself. and i love imyoursociallyawkwardfriend, but she actually has a "job" and "responsibilities", so she isn't able to read/edit as much as this story requires. so i'm calling out everyone who would be willing to help me edit!! comment here, message me on tumblr, anything! you'll win my eternal gratitude!!!
> 
> ~ contact me with anything (editing help, headcanons, what you think will happen, cute pictures, etc.) at iangallagherisadeadmxn.tumblr.com!! ~


	6. Nonoc Magic and All That Bullshit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Training week's always the hardest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 5x10 is tomorrow and i don't think i'm ready for it. like, at all.
> 
> in the meantime, i hope you enjoy this chapter!

Training week, in a word, was rough. Everyone was just how Mickey had imagined they'd be. He couldn't remember many of their names (some were more memorable than others, like Ezra or Sonja - or Ian) but most of the counselors all ran together in his head. He didn’t beat himself up over it - they were all white, excited to be there, and in the blurry range of 17-21.

Of the entire staff, there were three people who weren’t white: Courtney, another Boys’ End counselor, Tyler, who was Asian, and Eva, who was Latina.

Mickey had never been in a situation where so many people had gotten up so early - willingly, at least. Everyday, they had to wake up at an ungodly hour in order to get to breakfast before all the orange juice was gone. Courtney was always up at seven without fail, dressed and ready to go before Mickey had even considered opening his eyes.

Sleeping at Nonoc was weird, to say the least. Nights there were silent, except for Court across the room from him. There were no cars, no parties down the street, no sirens in the distance. Worst of all, there was no L. On most nights, the train hadn’t bothered him much, except for the few seconds when it was directly overhead; on bad nights (the hold-onto-the-grass-so-he-wouldn’t-fall-off nights) it had been a constant, it was steady, it was always there to remind him that was alive - alive and in a room that shook when the train went past.

After breakfast, Mickey got sent around - like a little bitch - to wherever Jill wanted him to go. Some mornings, it was with the rest of the counselors, to play some bullshit “team-building” game. One day, Thursday, he was sent to Admin to watch a three-hour-long video about CPR, the heimlich maneuver, and how to save drowning kids.

It was one of Mickey’s least violent weeks he’d had in… Suffice to say, a long time. It wasn’t like he didn’t want to kick every counselor’s ass - just for being so goddamn _perky,_ Jesus - but, for the first time, he restrained himself. He had a goldmine of pre-rolled blunts that were just waiting to be sold and, for the amount of money he’d bought them for, he was going to make even more. Nonoc was a business venture, after all.

Mickey’s hadn’t really been paying an over-abundance of attention, but some things about camp had been drilled into his head so often, he couldn’t help but remember. The schedule was one of those things.

Every morning, they had to wake up at seven, wake up their kids half an hour later, and be at breakfast by eight. After breakfast, they would go to the OC to hear morning announcements.

After that, the kids had free roam until noon. The counselors paired off to go to stations, scattered around camp. There was Arts and Crafts, Canoes, Guitars, and The Tower, among others.

At noon, the bell rang and everyone headed to the Lodge for lunch. There were no “Lunch Announcements”, which Mickey was immensely thankful for. In the hour after lunch, it was BOB time.

“It stands for Body-On-Bunk,” Courtney explained, when Mickey had asked who the fuck Bob was. “It’s a chance for the littler campers to nap and the older campers to relax. The only rule is that we don’t make any noise.”

In the hour after that, they had Afternoon swim. All the counselors went too, some to play with the kids, some to supervise. The pool didn’t have much substance to it: a shallow end, a deeper end, and a single diving board, but there were still three posts for lifeguards.

After the swim, every cabin split off to do cabin activities, like hike, canoe, or play sports. Mickey didn’t understand what made it different from Morning Activities, but he didn’t bother asking.

At seven, they had dinner, and directly afterwards, there was a camp-wide game. There were only a handful to pick from (some games Mickey knew, like Capture the Flag, and some he didn’t, like Madness), so the counselors had played them over the training week.

When the game was finished, there was an Evening Swim, and then everyone went to bed.

Court mentioned there was something called Taps every night. “They’re… like short stories with morals - like a bedtime story.” At Mickey’s disgusted expression, Court laughed. “They’re not too bad. I’ll take care of ‘em for the first week or two and then you can see if you still hate ‘em so much.”

On Saturday, the last day before the first batch of kids would get there, they all received their Stations. They were on a clipboard attached to the front door of the Lodge.

Mickey didn’t know why he’d been chosen to supervise canoes (he’d never even been in one) but that wasn’t his main concern. His main concern was that the counselor he’d been paired with was Ian.

He didn’t know why it bothered him so much, he just didn’t want to be cooped in a cramped stall with the guy he’d stared-

Okay, he knew exactly why it bothered him so much. The stupid staring contest he’d had with the redhead on his first night.

Every time he so much as looked at the guy, he got swept away in the memory (and it wasn’t even that great of a fucking memory, he told himself). He couldn’t imagine having to talk with the guy.

But that was exactly what he had to do. For the rest of that afternoon, everyone was supposed to hang out with their station partner and get to know them.

Mickey hadn’t been down to the Canoes since Court had showed him on his second or third day.

There was a flat grassy area at the edge of the river, which widened enough that it looked like a small lake. The ground dropped off abruptly, but there was a ten foot dock jutting out from the shore. To the left of the dock was a rack holding six canoes.

On the other side of the clearing, which was only about fifteen feet away, there was a shack. The entire front end was just a solid counter, and the walls inside were covered in life jackets.

Ian was already there when Mickey arrived. He’d watched Court walk off to the Guitar station next to a Karen Jackson lookalike in envy. He couldn’t play guitar worth shit, but it still sounded better than spending three hours a day next to fucking Blue Eyes McGee.

“Hey, I’m Ian,” The ginger greeted politely. He was sitting on the counter casually, but he wasn’t looking at Mickey weird or anything. Mickey started to wonder if he’d imagined the whole encounter. Nonoc Magic and all that bullshit Jill had rambled about while he hadn’t listened.

He nodded in greeting. “Mickey,” He said simply. Admittedly, he was still wary, but his pride won out. He wasn’t going to look nervous, not if he could help it. He’d been in scarier situations, after all, without thinking twice about them.

“So,” Ian jumped off the counter, into the shack. “Word around camp is that it’s your first year.”

Mickey wondered if the kid thought he was fooling anybody with his faux cool attitude. Mickey raised his eyebrows at the back of Ian’s head when he turned around to look at the life jackets.

“Uh,” Mickey said thickly. “Yeah.”

Ian turned around. He had no less than three life jackets on each arm and a grin that made him look even more puppyish than Caleb. “I figured. They always give the shitty stations to the newbies.”

Mickey nodded mock-seriously and took a few steps closer to the counter. “Right, right. I’d just like to mention that lifting life jackets ain’t gonna get you ripped, if that’s what you’re trying to do.”

Ian looked down at himself. “No, no I meant-” He tried to gesture, but the jackets impaired his arms. He tried to deposit them onto the counter, still fumbling over his words. “It’s just. Agh. Wait, wait-”

Mickey scratched his nose to keep himself from laughing outright. One of the jackets started to tumble off the counter, bringing the other five with it. He debated reaching out to grab it, but decided against it.

The pile of bright orange vinyl fell off the counter and into the grass at the bottom, completely unreachable to Ian.

With nothing left to fumble with, Ian finally got his sentence out. “I meant to say that they always give the shittiest job to the new counselors,” He repeated, then swept his arm behind him, to the life jackets behind him. “None of these are in order.” There was a second’s pause while Mickey looked into the shack.

The jackets were all labelled with Ls, Ms, or Ss. They all hung on clothing racks, and there were four or five on each rack. Ian was right, there didn’t seem to be any rhyme or reason.

“Could you, uh, pick the ones that fell?” Ian asked lamely.

Mickey looked down at them and shrugged. Judging by the shitshow Ian had just pulled, Mickey felt like he was a step or two higher than the kid.

So he ignored the life jackets and slid over the counter, into the back of the shack. “Nah,” He said. “We should probably start organizing.” Mickey was pretty sure it was the only time he’d ever suggested organizing anything, aside from his dad’s guns. “Besides, you’re the one that dropped ‘em. You can grab ‘em whenever.”

Mickey started taking the jackets of the shelves and throwing them on the floor. “You want the larges in the back or the front?”

Ian was staring at him again, but Mickey didn’t dare look up. He didn’t want to get caught again, especially not in such a confined space.

“Uh… back.”

The afternoon passed much like that. The process for organizing the life jackets was long and arduous, and it wasn’t helped by the fact that the shack smelled stronger of mold than the Milkovich household smelled of weed.

It was tedious, but the proximity to Ian was enough to keep Mickey on his toes. Sometimes, Ian would try to start a conversation, but they never got very far.

Even after - _especially_ after - an afternoon in the cramped space with Ian, Mickey wasn’t sure he’d be able to handle a whole week with the kid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> campers are coming next chapter! do you think they'll be like the counselors? ... do you think mickey will even learn any of their names?
> 
> at the time of publication, i'm the only one who has looked over this chapter (admittedly, that's mostly my fault, since spring break was /not/ as free as i expected it would be) but i'll be looking over it in the next few days!
> 
> ~ message me at iangallagherisadeadmxn.tumblr.com with comments, predictions, editing offers (or to point out grammatical errors), etc! ~


	7. Chicago

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the last Saturday night before their first wave of campers. Why not completely spoil it with a long-running camp tradition?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> shameless is going to be over in a week and a day. what the fuck?
> 
> this fic still has a long way to go, though, so you'd better strap in for the long haul!

Saturday night was the first big campfire of the summer. Mickey stuck around Courtney, but when the guy decided to try to be “sociable” and get Mickey into some of the various conversations, he left the light of the fire to inhale a different kind of smoke.

It had been too long since he’d had a cigarette anyway. He didn’t break into his stash of blunts, but he opened a pack of Marlboros. He had to dig in his bag for a minute before he found his lighter, but all was right (or… less shitty, at least) with the world when he took his first breath.

Within moments of sitting down on his cot, someone must have plugged a speaker into their phone, because he heard a Top 40 song start playing from the campfire, audible despite the distance. 

He was left to wonder why twenty or thirty teenagers were being entrusted with the lives of rich white people’s kids for the whole summer, while he sucked on his cigarette greedily.

The song ended and another started before Mickey decided he should probably head back to the rest of the counselors, but instinct overwhelmed him and he shook out another cigarette instead. Fuck rationing the cancer sticks.

After twenty minutes, the music cut out abruptly. Mickey swore under his breath as he belatedly remembered that Court had mentioned there was some all-important announcement Jack was going to make at the end of the night.

The butts of the cigarettes were no longer smoldering when he stood up, so he scooped them into his hand (from where he had haphazardly stubbed them out on the floor) and held them loosely in his palm until he returned to the edge of the party.

Jack had found his way on top of a bench and was spewing something about how important it was that the counselors took their jobs seriously but still made sure the kids had “the greatest week of their life.”

Mickey scoffed silently and emptied his hand into the only trashcan in sight, before smearing any of the excess ash on his jeans. Unfortunately, his destination was only a few feet away from Ian.

His face (and Adam’s apple, Jesus _Christ_ ) was illuminated by the warm light of the fire, and it looked as if his hair had an inferno of its own. Before Mickey could get too queer about it, Ian turned to look at him.

“Where were you?” Ian asked lowly.

Mickey shrugged. “John,” He lied.

Ian looked down at Mickey’s hands, at the trashcan, and then back to Mickey’s face. “Sure,” Was all he said.

Mickey’s afternoon flashed in his brain, mostly Ian fumbling like a dumbass with the life jackets. He was in no position to call Mickey out, he figured.

So he ignored him. He didn’t have to explain himself if he didn’t feel like it. Just because they were co-counselors didn’t make Ian his fucking keeper.

Jack said something that ended with the words, “First year as a counselor,” And the group of counselors around them split up. Ian stayed put so Mickey didn’t move either, as he remembered Ian saying something about the worst jobs being given to the newest counselors.

In the end, the majority of counselors ended up on the other side of the fire, with Jack standing where both parties could see him, still on the bench.

There were only five new counselors, apparently - other than Mickey. Ian and Caleb, Mickey recognized. Along with them, there was another guy - a chunky, quiet boy Mickey didn’t know the name of - and two girls, both of which had flown completely under Mickey’s radar.

“Now’s the moment you’ve all been waiting for!” Jack announced with an air of unnecessary grandeur. Mickey squinted, he couldn’t imagine what more the camp could pull on him. Did they have to wear uniforms for the whole week or some shit?

In the end, it was much worse. So much worse.

“Camp names!” Jack yelled. The counselors around him crowed in support.

 _‘What the fuck?’_ Mickey thought. He’d entirely forgotten about the “camp nicknames” bit of Jack’s long-winded spiel back when he’d driven Mickey in.

Jack called everyone off his clipboard, starting with the returning counselors.

The first person he called up was a girl named Bailey. She had long, black hair and was wearing a tank top covered in paint stains that may or may not have been accidental.

“I’m Bailey, with Cabin 8, and I work at Camp Crafts!” She introduced herself. “But whenever campers are around, you can call me Squirrel!”

Mickey groaned inwardly. ‘ _You must be_ fucking _kidding me._ ’

The rest of the introductions followed very much the same pattern. Jack was the Cedar counselor and he worked in the Admin building, and everyone called him Sonic. Taylor was Sparrow; Marlene was Ladybug; Court was fucking Sundance.  

Mickey tried to think of one that wasn’t completely gay, like his co-counselor’s, but he was having trouble.

Soon, the last of the returning counselors had gone, and everyone turned towards the six newbies.

Caleb picked Pebbles. The chunky guy, Avery, was Gadget. Cora was Jellybean and Hazel was Dandelion and fuck, Ian stepped up in front of the crowd to introduce himself, which meant Mickey was the last to go.

“Hey everyone, I’m Ian; I’m with the Rangers and I’ll be working at Canoes. Whenever campers are around, I’ll be Redwood,” He grinned proudly, like his bullshit euphemism of a nickname was hilarious.

Mickey only had the barest idea of a counselor name, fuck. Still, he took his place up in front of the twenty odd counselors around the fire.

“Name’s Mickey, m’with Cabin 5, and I’m helping out at Canoes too,” He said. He was layering on his ‘I don’t give a shit’ facade pretty thick, and he could only thank his recent intake of nicotine for that. 

He paused, and looked at the crowd, for a fraction of a second. They were all staring at him like an animal in a zoo, he swore. He didn’t know why or how they managed to make him feel so exotic, and he wondered if he was the only one of them who’d ever lived outside Iowa.

The thought gave him an idea, so, without taking a second to really consider his decision, he plowed through the rest of the words. “Whenever campers are around, you can call me Chicago.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> do you think mickey will regret his camp name? (spoiler: not as much as he thought he would)  
> do you think ian realizes how embarrassing his camp name is? (spoiler: he totally does and he loves it)
> 
> this chapter is 100% unedited as of publishing, but i'll get to it tomorrow!
> 
> ~ contact me at iangallagherisadeadmxn.tumblr.com with your thoughts on the chapter (or an offer to edit) and i'll probably fall in love with you! ~


	8. Just Wasteful

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Honestly, they're going to burn through so many Band-Aids with this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> shameless is over tomorrow and it still doesn't really feel like it's started :))))))))) i hope you enjoy this anyway

The first car drove in at eight. For the first time all summer, Mickey had already been up, despite the fact that none of the campers would be allowed past main camp until ten. There was nothing to do other than eat breakfast and wait for the kids to start rolling in, he figured.

Breakfast was nothing special, but the past week of three meals a day already had Mickey feeling like they were trying to fatten him up. Last time he’d had a steady source of food, he’d been serving time. And, in juvie, at least he’d had weights.

Neither Mickey nor Courtney had paid much attention to the biggest room in Cabin 5 for the week. There was nothing to do to it, after all. It was empty (and still smelled faintly of lemon-scented cleaning products) and the bunk beds were bare, save a mat similar to Mickey’s.

However, that morning, as they walked into Five, Court stood still and surveyed the room.

Mickey paused halfway through the door frame to the counselors’ room. “The fuck you lookin’ for?” He asked. “It’s the same as the last hundred times you walked in.”

Court looked at him for a second, then shrugged. “Trust me, you’re gonna want to appreciate it like it is now. Once kids come through, it’ll never look the same.”

Mickey rolled his eyes. “Whatever, man.”

Courtney produced a clipboard out of fucking hammer space (or maybe he’d been carrying it the whole time. Mickey hadn’t been paying attention) and started going down a list of names.

“Okay, this week we’ve got a Travis Baker, Paul English, Neil Kimber…”

Court kept reading while Mickey reclined on his cot. Neither of them had anything better to do. Hell, even their “beds” were made, with the sleeping bags zipped up and blankets folded.

By 9:30, the line of kids waiting to get checked into camp was ridiculous. “How many kids are there?” He asked, after checking the status of the line through the window. “Jesus.”

Court shrugged. “Eight kids per cabin, ten cabins, plus Ranger and the CITs, so like...?” He trailed off.

“So like 96,” Mickey finished for him.

Court looked over at him, in well-concealed shock. “Yeah, I guess. But, damn, I didn’t peg you for a math whiz.”

“Fuck you is what you shoulda pegged me for,” Mickey responded tiredly. It wasn’t like the math had been hard or anything. “‘Sides, not my fault you can’t do basic addition.”

Court laughed and shifted his position on the cot, so he was laying like Mickey. “Not my fault I’m out of school and don’t have to do that shit anymore.”

Over the course of the previous week, he and Court had gotten to know each other better (“friends” wasn’t a term Mickey liked to use, but “acquaintances” was too stuffy). It wasn’t something Mickey had particularly planned, or expected.

It was more like the kind of companionship that Mickey had seen between guys in the same sect of the sleeping quarters at state homes. They didn’t know each other, but there was an unspoken, “If someone fucks with you, they fuck with me too,” agreement between them. There was no reason for it.

Mickey had always figured it was a kind of glass-half-full way of dealing with state homes. If you were going to be there for a while, you might as well make allies - the more experienced the better.

And there was none as experienced as Courtney. He was the only counselor - excluding Jack and Becca, Mickey figured - who had graduated college. Or, at least, he was the only one who talked about it.

It was 9:55, according to Mickey’s phone, and Courtney was peppering him with advice.

“Just follow my lead for the first introductions and shit. It’s all basic stuff- names, ages, shit like that. And then we leave ‘em to unpack and pull the kids out one by one, to fill this out.”

The room was small enough that Mickey could read the title of the paper: “ _Health & Happiness_”, and some of the bolded words, like “ _Allergies_ ” and “ _Medications_.” He groaned. It was finally starting to hit him that he would be responsible for eight kids a week - for nine weeks in a row.

“Then all the cabins go to the pool by number, so we’re right in the middle, but we don’t have to get in, just mark down the names of the ones that can go in the deep end.” Court paused and stretch, making his back arch and crack audibly. “Sunday’s are pretty chill. Mostly it’s just the kids getting to know each other.”

The huge bell in the center of the camp rang, which even Mickey could tell meant the kids could come in. Court sat up straighter, and Mickey mirrored him, but they didn’t make a move to get off of their cots.

“Oh, Christ, I forgot,” Court said suddenly. He reached over to his dresser where a bright orange first-aid kit had been resting all week. The kit produced a small box of Band-Aids that Court tossed to Mickey. “Gotta cover up,” He said, pointing to his knuckles.

Mickey groaned.

“Yeah, yeah. Bitch and moan all you want, Jill will have my _ass_ if she sees you outside this cabin, knuckle tattoos ablaze.”

He reluctantly started taping the bandages over his knuckles. They were all thin enough not to impair his movements.

“This is just wasteful,” Mickey groused as he stared at the eight Band-Aid wrappers in his hands. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he wondered if the wrappers would be able to conceal ashes and butts, so he wouldn’t have to carry the remnants of his bad habit halfway across the camp to dispose of them. “Imagine a kid gets, I dunno, a fuckin’ papercut. They’re shit outta luck, ‘cause we’re gonna use up our entire first-aid kit on my tattoos.

“Your fault for getting them,” Court shrugged.

Mickey threw a handful of the plastic-y Band-Aid wrappers at him. “Your fault for having a bitchy boss.”

Before the wrappers had even made it off the floor, the first kid had arrived. He was only a couple years younger than Mickey, fifteen at the oldest. He was carrying a rolled-up sleeping bag in one arm, and a pillow in the other.

His dad, Mickey presumed, followed him in a few seconds later, wheeling a suitcase behind him. The mother followed, not carrying anything, but looking like she wanted to have something to do.

Court stood up and met her in the middle of the campers’ room, while the boy and his dad picked out which bunk bed he could choose. Mickey stayed in the counselor’s bedroom, standing up, but awkward.

“Welcome to Camp Nonoc!” Court greeted. “Now, who’s the first Cabin Fiver?”

“Brandon. Brandon Reed,” The mother answered.

Getting the parents in and out was a quick and painless process, Mickey realized. He grew increasingly glad about not being a counselor for the Ones or Twos when he looked out the window and saw some of the kids tearily hugging their parents outside of their cabin.

For the Fives, there wasn’t usually anything more than a slap on the back from a dad or a quick squeeze from their mom.

After a half hour of kids slowly but surely trickling in, the huge bell rang again.

Mickey hadn’t yet moved from the counselors’ room, and didn’t immediately know what the ringing was for.

The whole cabin cheered when Court shouted, “The parents are gone!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> want a spoiler? mickey isn't going to remember any of these kids' names. (honestly, he doesn't know most of the other counselors' names, okay?)
> 
> still haven't found myself an editor, so if you're freeee...
> 
> ~ contact me at iangallagherisadeadmxn.tumblr.com with anything your heart desires! (i'm so lonely) ~


	9. Stolen Cigarette

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If Ian was a cute puppy, Mickey would be a grumpy cat (and Court would be an asshole raccoon who steals your shit just because he can.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> let me start of by saying that i am SO SORRY about not updating last week! after the finale, i took a little break because it was kind of hard for me to focus on anything about ian and mickey without getting irrationally angry. :)
> 
> i hope you all like it!

If Mickey had thought dealing with roughly thirty overzealous, energetic, and unnecessarily _happy_ counselors was rough, he didn’t have words to describe how much he hated the camp when it was stuffed to the brim with campers.

They ranged from, he figured, eight to sixteen. The “Fives”, as Court referred to them, were the oldest campers, at least. They didn’t wake him or Courtney up at two in the morning with a bad dream, which was something he listened to the other counselors bitch about when there were no kids around.

The times when kids were scarce - like during the afternoon or evening swims - were fucking _blessings_. He didn’t exactly have total freedom, since Court was predictably free when Mickey was.

However, Wednesday afternoon, he discovered a cigarette missing from the carton. There were only four left, so it wasn’t too hard to keep track. At first, he thought one of the boys had done it (he didn’t know any of their names, but one of them had the shiftiest eyes Mickey had seen out of the south side), but Courtney admitted to stealing it before Mickey could confront Five.

He threw the (unsmoked) cigarette on Mickey’s bed when he arrived in the Counselor’s Room.

“The fuck, man?” Mickey asked angrily. All of the kids were… Mickey didn’t have a clue. Swimming or something. Somewhere he didn’t have to keep an eye on them.

“Relax,” Courtney side-eyed him, like he thought Mickey was going to charge. Mickey was strongly considering the option. “Jesus, I didn’t smoke it.”

Mickey stormily shoved the cigarette back into the carton.

“Why the fuck were you going through my stuff?” Mickey asked, once the carton had been replaced in his duffel.

“Why’re you asking? ‘Fraid I found your weed or something?” Courtney asked cockily. It was Mickey’s turn to side-eye him.

The guy didn’t look like he was bound and determined to get Mickey thrown out of camp, and he’d been pretty cool to Mickey for the week and a half they’d known each other.

He’d been wanted to start selling anyway.

“Looking to buy?” He asked.

Courtney laughed. “I’ll pass, but thanks for the offer. Save that for Saturday.”

“What’s Saturday?”

Over the course of the conversation, Courtney had flopped onto his bed and began flipping through his phone disinterestedly. At Mickey’s question, he turned to look at him fully.

“All the kids are gone, Jill takes the night off… We can do anything we want, as long as we can clean it up by Sunday.”

“Okay, define, ‘Anything you want,”,” Mickey ordered.

“Sex, drugs, and rock and roll, dumbass!” Courtney laughed. “During the week, we gotta act like we’re some… abstinent college-bound Christians or whatever, but Saturdays? Yeah, they’re fucking great.”

Mickey didn’t know what he could’ve said in response, but he was spared, as the entirety of Five rushed into the cabin at once.

The majority of them went immediately to their bunks, to hang their towels over the railings of their bunk beds or on their suitcases to dry out, but one of them checked the Counselor’s Room, to find Mickey and Courtney both relaxing on their beds.

Courtney had thrown his phone under his covers at the sound of the door opening, and Mickey’s carton was safely tucked under his clothes, in the duffel.

“Hey, why weren’t you guys at Afternoon Swim? He asked.

Mickey was a second away from barking at him to fuck off, but Courtney beat him to the punch.

“We were at Admin, finishing up some paperwork. We’ll be at the Swims for the rest of camp, right, Chicago?”

Right. Chicago. That was his “name” in front of the kids.

Mickey didn’t say anything, just nodded stonily.

Courtney sat up in his bunk, swung his legs over the side, and got up. He walked into the main room, and shouted. “Fives! Attention over here!

“It’s time for Afternoon Activities, and our Sister Cabin has invited us to a game of Amoeba in the Soccer Field. Ready to kick some Cabin Ten butt?”

There was a chorus of yeahs, so Courtney clapped his hands. “Great! We gotta be out there in five, so get some shirts on - and don’t forget your close-toed shoes!”

He returned to the Counselor’s Room, shutting the door behind him, where Mickey was zipping up his duffel.

“Fuckin’ Sundance,” Mickey grumbled.

“Lighten up, Chicago,” Courtney huffed. He replaced his phone to its actual hiding spot, in a small alcove half covered by the wooden bedframe. “Just gotta trudge through two more days,” He said sarcastically.

 

At least in the afternoons, Mickey had some semblance of free time. The mornings were worse. So much worse.

He was stationed in that broken down, tiny fucking life jacket shack with Ian for three fucking hours every day. And the kid wouldn’t stop trying to talk to him, every free second they got.

“Hey, uh, Chicago, so you’re from Chicago, right?” Mickey didn’t say anything.

“Ranger’s are going on a hike today. What’s Five doing?” Mickey didn’t say anything.

“Do you like, like, swimming or canoeing or whatever?” Mickey didn’t say a goddamn thing.

Mickey was so annoyed (and fucking enamored. _Fuck_ ) by Ian’s determination, he started to hope that kids would come to Canoes, so they could do something other than passively watch and make sure the kids didn’t drown.

There were very few rules at Canoes. Everyone had to have a life jacket and there had to be a Cabin Three (or Cabin Eight) camper or older in each canoe, but that was it.

Sometimes, Ian would jump over the barrier to help kids push off from the dock or pull back in, but for the majority of the time, they had nothing to do but talk to each other. Or, at least, that was how Ian saw it.

By Friday, Mickey didn’t know what he was supposed to do. Half the time, he wanted to jump the counter and run into the lake, to distance himself from the awkward one-sided conversations that Ian lead (he’d started just talking, not caring that Mickey wasn’t responding. Mickey knew he’d had a dog named Colt, but his step mom had gotten it sent to a shelter. He knew Ian’s middle name was the same as his dad’s first, Clayton. He knew that his nickname was Redwood because his dad had taken him to the Redwood Forests in California three years ago, after he’d divorced his second wife, Molly.)

The other half of the time he spent wondering what would happen if he responded. Would Ian fumble as much as he had the first time they’d talked? Mickey hoped so.

“What are you doing on Saturday, Chicago?” Ian asked. Even over the past five days, he was no less hope as he’d been on the first.

“Taking a fucking nap,” Mickey bit out.

Ian’s eyes went as wide as saucers, but he just swallowed and cleared his throat. “Bowie said there was going to be a party. Do you think you’re gonna come? At the- to the party, I mean.”

He _was_ fumbling, Mickey noted with a private satisfaction.

"Yeah," Mickey said shortly. He didn't plan on saying anything else, either. He'd found out pretty quickly that the only times he could absolutely not stand Ian's chatter was when it was about Bowie.

Bowie was one of the Cabin Nine counselors, so Mickey didn’t know much about her, except that she was a year older than Ian and they were dating.

It was one of the many things Ian had rambled about over the course of the week. Her real name was Jordy, they’d gone to the same high school, and she’d just graduated. And they were dating.

At first, Mickey didn’t believe Ian, privately daring him to slip up and admit that she was a beard or _something._ But either he was a better liar than he seemed, or he was straight, and with a girl.

It didn’t explain the constant fumbling, but Mickey had started to wonder if Ian wasn’t tripping over himself because he had a crush, but because he was scared.

In the south side, that would have been a good - no, great - thing. But at Nonoc, it just made Mickey feel more or less like a piece of shit.

He tried to tell him that that was a good thing. Usually, when someone was scared of him, they were less likely to try to fuck him over, but Ian didn’t seem capable of fucking anyone over, much less someone he’d spent half an hour rambling about a sixth grade field trip to.

In all honesty, it had been the reason Mickey’d tried to get a smoke on Wednesday. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> what does everyone think of bowie/jordy?
> 
> (still don't have an editor (uh oh))
> 
> ~ leave your reactions, expectations, found grammar editors, etc here or in my ask box at iangallagherisadeadmxn.tumblr.com! ~


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